Slouching Towards Eternity
by Mimic Teruyo
Summary: It's easy to lose yourself in time.


You wake up.

The grass underneath you is wet with dew, and your clothes are sodden. At least you didn't fall asleep on concrete this time.

You briefly wonder about the year, but soon push the thought aside. It may have mattered at times, but you can't remember the last time when.

Perhaps it's time you should visit Kaguya again.

Your joints creak as you stand up. A couple of humans passing by stare at you, but say nothing. They know not to. Everyone dwelling in the ruins of former Gensokyo knows to avoid the shambling corpse of a phoenix wandering amidst them.

You walk down the street. Even after centuries, you haven't gotten used to the feel of concrete underneath your feet.

(Perhaps you should get new shoes.)

There are still youkai left, you know. Where they are, you don't know. All you see as you slouch towards Kaguya's hiding place are humans, walking, talking, laughing, lost in thought.

You are now removed from them.

(You were removed from them the moment your lips touched that accursed elixir. You were a fool to tell yourself otherwise.)

It's no longer sad. You forgot what sadness felt like endless years and a thousand resurrections ago.

(You haven't felt much anything lately.)

It might have taken you anything from hours to a few minutes, but you're standing in front of Kaguya's newest home.

You give the door a kick.

She opens the door herself. You don't remember her ever doing that before.

(You remember a thousand other open doors, with a thousand people behind them.)

(You remember the first time you murdered Kaguya. Or at least you think it was the first.)

(You can't remember the last time you killed her.)

(You remember her holding you tight as you shook and wept and tore your hair out in brittle clumps, thinking your heart would burst from emotions you hadn't felt in so long.)

(It didn't burst.)

Kaguya quirks her eyebrow at you.

"You have sticks in your hair."

You chuckle.

* * *

You don't really taste the tea, but it's warm and fills you up. You had forgotten how hollow you were.

Kaguya didn't need to offer you anything, but she boiled the water. All by herself, even.

(You keep forgetting she does everything all by herself now.)

(You remember teaching her what little you knew before you forgot it all.)

There are rice crackers on the table. You may have enjoyed them before. You are not sure.

She didn't need to offer you food. You would show up even if she greeted you with a stab instead of a smile.

(Maybe she wants you to feel comfortable so you'll visit more often.)

(Maybe she needs you as much as you need her.)

Kaguya sips at her own tea, then looks at you in silence. You don't really talk, and haven't in a hundred years. All words have long since been exhausted.

(She is all you have. You are so far gone she is all you will ever have.)

(She is the only one who understands.)

"Do you still remember Keine?" she asks.

"Keine." The name is faintly familiar. You still don't know how Kaguya has managed to retain so much more of her memory than you have. Perhaps all that baloney she fed you about Lunarians had some truth to it after all.

She shrugs. "Figured as much. Don't worry about it."

You feel light-headed. That's normal enough. Your body goes into shock every time you give it some nutrition.

Maybe you shouldn't have eaten that rice cracker.

You don't bother asking for news. There are none.

She sips at her tea again. "Want to stay here for a while?"

You shrug. It doesn't matter much where you sleep, after all. The floor of Kaguya's house is as good an option as any.

You long to close your eyes.

(Kaguya says you sleep too much. You think she doesn't sleep enough.)

She gives you a pitying look. You don't understand why.

(She _is_ you.)

You chuckle. "One hell of an eternity, huh?"

(You've said the same joke dozens of times already.)

Kaguya smiles nevertheless. She touches your hand.

You smile back.

(You feel nothing.)

* * *

 _A/N: Sorry I haven't been around. Life is suck._


End file.
